


two left feet

by spideywhiteys



Series: 365 Days of Naruto AUs [46]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, F/M, Gen, could possibly be shippy tones, i kinda want them, if u really want them, madara is a humbug but we know this, modern setting but undisclosed year, sakura takes that personally, uchiha family business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideywhiteys/pseuds/spideywhiteys
Summary: Haruno Sakura has two weeks off to do absolutely nothing but suffer the company of Uchiha Madara, and she's determined to not let that get her down.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Madara
Series: 365 Days of Naruto AUs [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086938
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	two left feet

**Author's Note:**

> Day 46: Supernatural AU / Sakura + Madara

Sakura drops the last stack of books on her desk with a sigh. It echoes in the bunker library and only serves to remind her how alone she is. Everyone is gone on missions that will take anywhere from two weeks to two months, traversing the country to exorcise or slaughter any creature that needs it. It’s just her luck that she picked the short straw this time around.

Because they can’t very well leave their base of operations unprotected. There’s too many artifacts, too many weapons and too many memories to let this place fall into the wrong hands if the worst happens while they’re all away.

At least she’s not alone.

Shame about the other person she’s with, though.

There’s no pressing need to organize the books she’s cluttered around the desk, so she leaves them for now. She’ll come back later when she really needs something to do with the time she has off, probably for some light reading or casual research. Whatever peaks her interest the most.

Sakura leaves the library, a little reluctant because she loves the towering shelves and dark wood, the warmth of lamplight and the smell of ink. She finds a home in the quiet, in the pursuit of knowledge. Sakura is no slacker, and she’s no idiot. Maybe she isn’t the smartest, but in a group filled with natural geniuses, she certainly holds her own. Being capable is all she’s ever strived to be, being reliable and providing support is something she knows she can do.

She finds him down the hall, seated at the couch in the common area, hunter tools laid out on the coffee table as he sharpens a knife. He’s dressed to go out, dark circles under his eyes and his handsome face creased tight like he’s constipated. It’s always such a shame — such a waste of a gorgeous face; why on earth did it have to belong to a temperamental ass who came out of the womb with a scowl?

“You need to relax.”

Madara scowls. “I do not need to _relax.”_

“See,” Sakura drawls. “The way you said _relax_ like it’s a curse word speaks otherwise.”

It’s just the two of them here for the next two weeks, and Sakura is not going to let her completely well-earned downtime be ruined by the walking cloud of angst that is Uchiha Madara. If he wants to be grumpy, he can do it outside, or in two weeks time. Sakura is familiar with the need to be useful, she can feel the need to be _busy_ bubbling in the back of her head with unsubtle tenacity. The only way to remedy this is to pack her schedule with fun things that take her mind off it. Like movies, or books, or shopping trips. A walk on the beach, even. 

Maybe she’ll sleep in for once.

But damn, he really takes it to a whole ‘nother level. Always desperate to move, always desperate to fight. He’s going to burn himself out one of these days, and it won’t be a pretty sight.

Sakura crosses the room, past the couch and table, over to the ornate fireplace that they barely ever use. There’s all manner of knick-knacks on the mantle — one of Naruto’s keychains, Itachi’s nail polish, a paintbrush Sai swore he lost last week, Kakashi’s pocket sewing kit (which he’s probably missing), and three different candles in various stages of use. There’s also a radio, an older model with a dock for mixtapes. She remembers being over ten years younger and making her own with her friends, before shit went down and their lives were uprooted. 

Before Sasuke’s family business blurred the lines.

Before she even knew what Sasuke’s family business _was._

She doesn’t care which one is in right now, she just can’t remember the last time she even sat and listened to music. It’s a damn shame. One that should be remedied immediately. When she presses play, the nostalgic tones of Maxine Nightingale’s _Right Back Where We Started From_ fill the air. Ah, tape #7, then.

Sakura grins and spins to face Madara, who’s still frowning. He gives her what amounts to the stink eye — but is really a question. Uchiha are hard to read, but she’s been doing it for too long now to miss their cues. 

“Get up.”

“What?” He blinks.

She strides forward, hands on her hips. “Get up, we’re dancing.”

“We’re dancing?” He parrots. “No, we’re not. Absolutely not.”

Sakura is not to be deterred. She is going to get Uchiha Madara, an ice-cold wall of coiled tension, to relax even if it kills her. It seems like the perfectly logical thing to do when there’s nothing else to occupy her time.

She grabs the coffee table and shoves it away to the side.

Madara doesn’t gape, but he certainly looks perturbed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re dancing.” Sakura says firmly, jade eyes blazing.

“We are _not_ —” 

He’s immediately silenced when Sakura reaches forward and grasps him by the wrists. With an effortless heave, she pulls him right off the couch like he weighs the same as a sack of laundry. In fact, she puts a little too much strength into it and he almost bowls her over, pressing far closer than either is familiar with.

Sakura’s grip tightens dangerously, and her smile is as cutting as the knives he’d been sharpening. She peers up through the curtain of wild black hair into his face, spring green meeting bottomless obsidian. Madara’s mouth goes dry.

“We’re _dancing,_ so you can get dragged along or you can use your feet.”

It’s not a request.

* * *

He still gets dragged quite a bit.


End file.
